Aftermath
by lady-harker
Summary: Watson knew Holmes had taken his moving in with Mary badly but his not turning up to dinner is just the tip of the iceburg. What has the detective been up to? And why is it no one knows where he is?
1. Discovery

**Disclaimer:** It took me all year to possibly come up with this idea. There's no way the movie would be out by now if I was in charge.

**A/N:** I've been stuck on my other stories for a while and it's been driving me insane and I'd been sort of harbouring this idea for a while so this is something I've worked on in the last couple of hours and it's actually pretty late here so I apologise for any glaring (or non-glaring) spelling or grammar errors. I will see to them when I'm less sleep-deprived. So let me know if this is worth continuing or not and hopefully I won't have messed it up.

**Aftermath**

**Chapter One: Discovery**

"It is not enough, Watson," Holmes had once told him, "to see something and accept it. Sometimes you must challenge your own perception. You must test it because you cannot always trust it. There is always a chance that you are wrong.

"In short, observation and understanding are not the same."

* * *

Watson had always regarded Holmes to be a curious fellow. He was unsociable; detested being in social situations unaccompanied; had a complete disregard for people's emotions and yet, as the good doctor had found, had a tendency to become self-destructive when left to his own devices.

In many ways the detective reminded him of a child. True, he was highly intelligent most of the time, and as anyone who has read or heard of his exploits will tell you, socially intriguing; however there were times when he needed to be reminded of the simple things. Things such as carrying a revolver; thinking before acting (something you might imagine he should be more than capable of achieving on his own); even _eating_ slipped his mind when left alone too long.

Sometimes it was as though he needed someone to remind him that, for all his deductions and understanding, he was still human. And so it was that at twenty minutes past seven Dr. Watson was only mildly surprised that Holmes had not arrived for dinner at the Royale as they had arranged around a month ago.

Holmes was rarely, if ever, late to an engagement be it an appointment of the highest importance or something he deemed ridiculous and unnecessary. Regardless of his social ability, Holmes was a grown man and his lack of attendance was worrying for his friend.

They had quite fallen out of touch since Watson had moved in with his fiancée, after all Watson had to inform all his patients who were still unaware of his new premises. Even though Holmes had promised to redirect anyone who turned up at 221b to the correct address something about the detective's childish grin said otherwise. And then there was the fact that he had so much family to introduce Mary to as well as many of her own relatives to meet.

The doctor failed to see the problem with their lack of contact since they were not family and no longer lived together. After all, it had barely been six weeks since he'd finished packing his belongings.

In the carriage back to his and Mary's house he couldn't help but feel something was wrong about his long-time friend's absence. Even if the man had a tendency to forget what day of the week it was, it seemed uncharacteristic for the fellow to fail an engagement.

Dear God! Hopefully he hadn't swallowed another one of his insane concoctions leaving him drooling on the carpet again. That was one night Watson wasn't going to forget in a hurry.

* * *

"Just wait here. I shouldn't be long." The carriage driver nodded as Watson turned to face the far-too-familiar front door of 221b Baker Street. It was the first time he'd been back since leaving and it was haunting being back, knowing this was no longer where he lived.

The front window was open and a light shone from inside casting a small light onto the darkening street. Despite the light there were no loud or sharp noises; no bangs, no shouts. It was quiet. Too quiet.

He rapped sharply on the wood three times before letting himself in. He was fairly sure neither of the house's occupants would mind much.

"Mrs. Hudson." There was no sound from her quarters but there was a shuffling on the floor above before she appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Oh it's you doctor." Her hand was held to her chest. "For a moment I thought-"

"What is it?" His former-landlady's eyes were mildly red while a floral-embroidered handkerchief was clasped in her shaking hand. Her hair was slightly flyaway, sticking out all over the place as though she hadn't had a chance to pin it properly although she subtly attempted to straighten it out as she stood there. "What's happened?"

"It's Mr. Holmes."

Watson tried to prevent the scowl from showing on as his face as he marched into the room before she could continue. "Holmes!" There's only so much a woman such as her can take. "Holmes!" He marched through the constant mess that littered what could loosely be called a habitable room. "Holmes!"

"He's not here, doctor."

That small phrase grabbed Watson's attention and pulled it towards the lady stood before him, her entire chest shaking with each breath. "What?"

"He's not here."

"Then where is he?"

She slowly clasped the handkerchief between her hands before taking a deep breath. "I'm afraid I don't know."

* * *

"We are aware of Mr. Holmes' disappearance." Watson took a deep breath as the police officer who he had never the displeasure of meeting before began the usual statement given out during a case. "We are currently investigating all avenues of possibility."

"I don't care what you're doing. Just get me Inspector Lestrade. Now!" the young lad flinched at Watson's harsh tone but went off to comply with the…request. It didn't matter if the boy's feelings were hurt right now. If anything it would make him a stronger man. He was certainly going to come up against worse than harsh words in her majesty's force.

From the corridor beside the desk, Inspector Lestrade strode out with his hand extended in greeting to the doctor, he was shortly followed by Clarkey.

"Doctor Watson. At last." Watson barely looked at the outstretched hand, merely pushing it out of his way before addressing the Inspector directly.

"What the devil is going on, Lestrade?"

A confused glance was exchanged with Clarkey before his eyes rested on Watson once more. "I was rather hoping you could tell me."

"Me tell you? You really are a bunch of idiots aren't you?" Sometimes it was so easy to see things from Holmes' perspective. "_I_ only found out two hours ago! You have known for at least a week longer than that and you expect _me_ to know?"

"With all due respect, sir," Clarkey's voice was calm and quiet as always as he spoke up, "you are his closest friend."

"Yes, but I moved out." Watson's voice lost volume as his mind realised something that his body hadn't quite caught up with. "Even when we lived together he…" He was Holmes' closest friend. "He never…"

Slowly he reached up to his mouth with his hand at the sudden shock of what he'd just said.

"Clarkey." The Inspector nodded at a nearby chair, which the officer pulled over and placed for the doctor to sit down on. "Just take a minute, doctor." Carefully he was guided onto the seat as it truly hit him.

His anger at being left in the dark about the situation had kept him from realising that Holmes was gone. He was missing. Lost.

"Believe me doctor, we would have contacted you but Mrs. Hudson didn't know your new address."

_That's right. I gave it to Sherlock. Asked him to give it to Mrs. Hudson. _He laughed. _I knew he wouldn't._

"Unfortunately there's little we can do about the whole thing except keep it out the papers."

Watson looked up. That's true. News that London's greatest detective was missing could be hazardous, not only to what little peace that remained in the developing city but to the detective himself should anyone come across him. There were a great many people, both familiar foes and complete strangers, who might find it convenient for Holmes to meet with an accident if known to be completely separated from everyone.

"So what do we do now?" a simple question which he had asked his friend many times before. Hopefully he would ask it again someday.

"We were hoping you would know that bit."

He paused, casting his mind back through all the seemingly mindless drivel that Holmes came out with on a daily basis.

They needed to know what had happened. Why had he disappeared? If they didn't know this they'd never find him, especially if he didn't want to be found.

"_It's a huge mistake to theorize before one has data_."

"Y'what?"

Watson stood up looking Lestrade straight in the eye. "Something Holmes said once." He tipped his hat to both the gentlemen before him and with barely a word was out the door.


	2. The Plot Thickens

**Disclaimer:** If this was mine I'd be in bed by now but since I'm not...It's 6 in the morning, how about you do the math instead?

**A/N:** So this is the second part of a story which came out of nowhere but doesn't seem to be doing too badly. I've tried to stick to the style of the first chapter but it's possible it may have slipped a couple of times. If that is the case, when I go over this there may be mild rewrites to rectify the problem. As for the title, I was hoping to come up with something a little less cliché but this is the best, and possibly most apt title I could think of. One last thing, all the events of this chapter happen on the same day which is about three days after the last chapter. Please read and let me know what you think.

**Chapter Two: The Plot Thickens**

Holmes was distinctly lacking in the area of organisation, or at least what you or I would class as organisation.

There was no denying that if Holmes needed to find a document or certain piece of scientific apparatus he was able to locate it within his room. No doubt there was a form of system to it which made sense to the man but stood in Holmes' room now, Watson saw many items he couldn't identify let alone hope to categorise.

There was no way to know what he used or even needed half of the room's contents for, although chances were a fair deal went towards experimentation on Gladstone. Poor dog.

Watson cast his eyes around the room knowing full well he wouldn't see their formally-shared pet. As soon as Mrs. Hudson was aware that Holmes wasn't returning she had taken the poor canine in to her care. She wasn't much of a lover of dogs but someone needed to take care of him; and Watson believed that Mrs. Hudson needed something to break the eerie silence that lay heavy upon the household.

Somewhere in that mess lay information regarding Holmes' latest case. Without a case he wouldn't have left his room; something had to have gained his interest in order to drag him out of there. If he knew what Holmes was up to maybe he'd have some idea of where to start looking for him.

Taking a deep breath he realised the absurdity of what he was attempting. Holmes received tens of letters every other day; how could he possibly decipher which one Holmes had selected?

Regardless, the doctor walked to where the letters were kept more as a matter of habit than means of keeping things tidy.

Several of them began with the phrase '_I fear for my life_' or '_I have been betrayed_' or '_such and such a jewel was stolen_' and after around twelve letters Watson began to understand Holmes' standpoint on uninteresting cases. So many problems and all so similar in nature; it was simple to imagine how easily it could become maddening, especially for someone who bores so easily as Holmes.

"Dr. Watson." Mrs. Hudson's voice came from behind the door momentarily before she opened it and entered the room.

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson."

"Forgive me for interrupting, but I'm afraid this young boy is most insistent that he speak with you." Sure enough, just visible over her shoulder there was a scruffy boy. There was dirt smudged on his face; probably lived on the street and had tried his best to clean himself up.

"No." Watson frowned, shook his head and turned. "Not right now, I-"

There was a cry and when Watson turned back he saw the boy had forced his way past Mrs. Hudson.

"Sorry, ma'am." The boy scrunched and twisted his hat between his fingers as he bowed his head in apology before looking defiantly at Watson. "You need to 'ear what I 'ave to tell you."

Watson paused. That was exactly what the gypsy woman had told him when Holmes paid her to convince against his marriage to Mary. "Excuse me?"

"You need to 'ear what I 'ave to tell you." Exactly what he had said before. Exactly.

This boy lived on the street; he dropped his 'h's as he spoke and the way he spoke showed little regard for the other aspects of the English language; it was unlikely he would ever say the _exact same thing _more than once.

"It's alright Mrs. Hudson." He nodded to the lady at the door who gave him a reproaching look before leaving. She left the door open slightly as she left, obviously expecting that the young lad wouldn't be staying long.

"Who are you?" the boy's eyes flicked back to the door as Watson stepped to place the letters back from whence he lifted them. "Don't worry, we're quite alone."

There was a small click and looking up he saw that the boy had closed the door. Upon realising that the doctor was glaring at him, he coughed before moving back into the middle of the room. "Sorry, sir. 'E said I 'ad to be careful."

"He who?" Watson had a sneaking suspicion but he needed to be sure.

The boy shifted again and his eyes fell to the floor while he continued to wring his hat out. "I don't know if I should say, sir."

"Who are you?"

He was shaking slightly and his eyes were downcast but would occasionally flick to the front window before settling on his beaten shoes once more. "'E said I shouldn't say, sir."

"Why not?"

Watson sighed and despaired for any progress with this lad as he shrugged his shoulders and allowed his gaze to fall once again. Perhaps he was mistaken; grasping at straws in desperation of somewhere to start; and for the first, and hopefully the last time, he wished that he was Sherlock Holmes with his infuriating and fascinating to discern the truth from miniscule details.

"You're bein' watched, sir." The boy's eyes were now fixed on the window. "'E said I 'ad to be sure they didn't know."

"Watched?" Careful that he didn't seem to be obvious, the doctor took what he hoped to be a casual glance around the street outside. "'E said they were clever."

The street was busy as always; ladies and gentlemen going about their usual business as they walk up and down the street while the carriages juttered about as they passed over the cobbles outside. "Said they were dangerous and they were after 'im. S'why 'e 'ad to leave."

There wasn't a single person out there he could single out as potentially dangerous but as he'd come to learn before they weren't always obvious.

"Where is he?"

"I don' know." The boy ran his hand through his hair messing it up slightly but he seemed genuinely nervous. "'E found me. Said I needed to tell you to stay away."

"What?" It came out more aggressive than Watson had intended and the boy took a step back in mild fear.

"I don' know, sir. 'E didn't tell me nothin' else."

It made sense. If the boy was right and Watson was being watched then a boy off the street would attract undue attention if within the house too long. And if Holmes really did want him to leave this be then he would be sure to give as little information as possible.

"I need to go now, sir." The boy was slowly bringing his hat back onto his head edging towards the door.

"Yes, fine." He waved the boy away as he turned back to the window. "Thank you."

With the doctor's approval he firmly jammed the hat onto his head before tipping it to the man. "Thank you, sir."

Watson watched with curiosity as the boy tipped his cap to Mrs. Hudson before running off down the cobbled street dodging people as he went. No one showed any sign of finding the lad's departure unusual; no one changed their paths or altered their line of sight.

* * *

It's astonishing that Watson hadn't thought of this in the three days since he'd discovered Holmes' disappearance.

The detective's room above the back street pub.

It was quiet, out of the way and known to only a select number of people. And of course, possibly most importantly, there was the hatch that would provide a useful escape route should the detective ever be cornered.

Even if Holmes wasn't there now there was a chance he went there after leaving Baker Street if only to sort things out. True, it truly wasn't much but it was, at the very least, a place to start.

Climbing the cracked wooden steps there was the familiar smell of a mixture of liquor, chemicals and stuffy air wafting from the door above.

The smell really hit him as he opened the door, hitting him full force and causing his lungs to burn which launched him into a violent coughing fit. Quickly he pulled out a handkerchief holding it tightly against his mouth as he staggered over to the window before opening it.

Almost doubled up from coughing, Watson continued to struggle for breath before the air cleared out enough so that it was breathable.

Once he was able to stand and breathe, as a human ought to be able to, Watson cast his eyes over the room in which he stood.

On the floor beside the door stood an experiment which he felt he could safely assume was responsible for the lack of air within the room. Vials and dripping devices which contained a combination of various alcoholic liquids as well as some potentially lethal chemicals and around half a quart of milk. The last part seemed a little odd, even for Holmes.

Unfortunately there appeared to be little else about and Watson's idea seemed little more than foolish now.

_Watson, this is exceptional. I, using musical theory, have created order…out of chaos._

Silently the doctor's mouth twitched into a smirk at the small memory before almost instantly disappearing as he cast his eyes over the room once more.

"Where are you?" he said to no one in particular.

It was at that moment that a small flutter on the far table caught the doctor's eye. A small piece of paper was trapped under a cup and the corner was flapping in the small breeze coming in through the window.

It was folded in four and lifting the mug Watson was able to see his own name scrawled onto the parchment in what could only be Holmes' writing.

He paused before opening it. Holmes had been here…did that mean he'd been right or that the detective expected that is where the doctor would think of first?

Carefully he unfolded it and read the note penned within.

'_Watson,_

_I knew you would attempt to look further into this._

_I won't tell you what I'm doing. You already know more than what I had hoped you would learn and even that small amount has already put you directly into the firing line._

_They are watching you my friend and I cannot guarantee your safety even now._

_As your friend, I beg you to leave this whole affair alone. __Do not look for me. This will only place yourself in further jeopardy and you know so well as I that so long as I wish not to be found you will never find me._

_The people responsible for all this are nothing short of dangerous and will think nothing of going after your dear Mary to deter you if you get too involved in this, and I'm not sure you're not at that point already._

_I don't know when this will be over but until then I will remain out of sight. It is the only way to prevent this whole ordeal escalating into another frenzied madness._

_Holmes_

_P.S. Apologies for the smell. It was necessary.'_


End file.
